So, I've started another story (I am in the middle of editing my next chapter for my Peeta Mellarco story) because the plot bunny would not leave me. I will not reveal anything, just know that it will get a little intense as the chapters go by. Swearing is included within this opening chapter. Sex will be included within future chapters. Please do not read if that makes you feel uncomfortable.
Otherwise, enjoy the prologue :)
Prologue
The sweeping marble arches shook with the impact of the powerful hexes being thrown at the exterior of the Hogwarts castle. The heady, metallic scent of ash and blood permeated the air, forcing Hermione to cover her nose with the sleeve of her tattered, bloodstained jumper. Fine powder fell from the ancient stone roof, floating into Hermione's eyes as she dashed past a pair of duelling wizards. All manner of shouting could be heard bouncing off the stone walls; deep and tortured, shrill and petrified. The girl's heart – usually prone to self-sacrificing compassion – was encased within the cold grip of numbness. She did not even freeze when she saw the bleeding, decimated corpse of Lavender Brown as she raced passed it. To Hermione, that girl lying broken on the ground, throat ripped to bloody strips, was not Lavender Brown: fellow seventh year student and former dorm mate. No, Lavender Brown was just another shattered, unnamed corpse. On the night of the battle, one could not waste time on the dead when there were lives depending on you.
Hermione sped through the hallway, dodging another considerably potent curse fired by a caster behind her. She threw an equally powerful curse over her shoulder, sweat dripping down her hairline.
"RON!" She screamed realising that she could no longer see the familiar mop of red hair beside her. She spun on the spot, aiming another curse at an ex-Slytherin student she spotted forming the wand movements of the Crucio spell.
"RON! RON, WHERE ARE YOU?" Hermione cried, throat burning as she attempted to be heard over the sharp notes of battle. The girl shook with fear intermingled with adrenaline. The formidable cocktail rushed through her veins, placing her in a state of hyper awareness. Where was Ron?
"RON? RON!" Her voice broke as she continued to race through the hallway, scanning the duelling bodies around her. By now, Hermione had reached the end of the hall where it met with the grand staircase she once stood on, wearing her elegant ball robes. Tonight, she stood on the bloodstained marble staircase as a bleak parody of that one night so long ago. Her tattered, muddy clothing was blood-spattered and smelling like burnt flesh. Strands of hair stuck to her sweaty face. On the level below, Hermione could not spy Harry or Ron amongst the coiling bodies of the child soldiers. So, on she ran, calling out the names of her best friends, heart constricting with every additional step she took.
By the time she reached the juncture by the prefects' reserved bathroom, Hermione instinctually realised that something was off. She gripped the wand tightly within her grasp, feeling the familiar groves of the rose and thorn pattern embossed on her vine handle. The west wall casted a long shadow down the corridor as the Gryffindor darted behind a corner, willing herself to stay silent. If she did not know of the origins of the pulsing multi-coloured hues she saw within the glass window, she would find them beautiful.
A snide chuckle reverberated across the empty junction. The sharp tap of metal boot trimmings made Hermione's blood turn cold.
"Come ou', disgusting lil' mudblood!" Yaxley's deep, harrowing was soft and gentle – contradictory to his chose words. Hermione swallowed, desperately weighing her options.
To run? I could slowly creep my way back into the previous hallway – or better yet, perhaps cast the invisibility charm for only a few moments. I just need a few moments.
Yaxely's voice grew sharper, and Hermione could almost imagine his black eyes glinting manically, his dirty, grubby nails caked with blood and mud.
"I'll give ya one more chance, mudblood whore. Show yerself 'n maybe I won't be too hard on ya…" The man's shadow grew as he slunk forward, closer and closer towards Hermione. Hermione knew that Yaxley may have sounded like an uneducated fool, but his destructive power and lack of self-restraint rendered him quite dangerous. He could overpower her in strength alone. If it were to be a fair duel, Hermione knew she could hold her own – but when are Deatheaters ever known to be fair? It was three against one. It was a death notice. Hermione took a deep breath. She could not run away as the perimeters were surrounded, but that did not mean she would go down without a fight.
She slowly stepped into the light, shadows still covering half of her brow. Her hands shook but she raised her chin in defiance. She did not waste time in aggressive banter, instead choosing to fire a violent curse towards her attackers. "INFLAMMO," she cried, watching in satisfaction as Yaxley screamed. He was surrounded by a floating dome of flames, his skin beginning to blister and melt. Hermione began to perform the three-point wand movements needed for the incandesco curse – one that would heighten the suffering of her attacker – but a voice broke her concentration.
"HERMIONE!" Desperation and blood curdling fear laced the voice she was so used to hearing bubbling with laughter or sharp with sarcasm. Momentarily forgetting her situation, Hermione spun, eyes searching for her best friend – her love. And standing there, surrounded by a halo of white light, stood Ron.
He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead.
"You're alive," she whispered, eyes beginning to water.
"CRUCIO!" A garbled cry flew from behind her, pulling Hermione from her trance. Ron, who was only seconds ago beaming with relief and acute joy, now was splayed across the floor, body twitching. His desperate voice pierced the air, puncturing the very recesses of Hermione's heart. She felt her stomach drop.
"RON!" A second, masculine voice joined within her own, crying out in despair.
Harry.
Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped Hermione's throat, blocking her air passage. The scent of rotting gums filled her nostrils, making her eyes water. She tore at the immobile hand at her throat, gasping and choking, kicking her feet against Yaxley's shins.
"HERMIONE!" Harry shouted. Hermione watched as blood dribbled down his face from the cut above her eyebrow. Strange, Hermione thought, that I would notice such trivial thing like a cut in such dire circumstances.
"Lookie 'ere, it's the boy who lived, 'is bloody traitor friend and their little Mudblood slut – all together inna room." Yaxley chortled. From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed two bulking figures tracing the perimeters of the corridor, as if feeling for something hidden within the walls.
What are they -
"LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU BASTARD!" Ron's voice cracked with fear and tears began to bubble within his throat. He sprinted towards his girlfriend only to skid to a stop when Yaxley raised a rusty pocket knife up to the soft skin of Hermione's neck. She could feel the man's lips curl into a grin by her ear. Black patches began to fill her vision. She could feel his hot breath fan across her face as he tutted, he moved his lips closer towards her ear. "The blood traitor is upset that I'm touching his Mudblood plaything." Hermione ignored his comment, keeping her blurry vision directed upon the moving shapes behind Harry and Ron.
Yaxley suddenly took a deep breath, grinning at the younger Weasley boy. "Mhhmm, I canna' smell her Mudblood cherry – no wonder why you want 'er so bad." Hermione stiffened when she felt the blade of the knife dig lightly into her skin, clenching her teeth as she felt the bead of glistening blood roll down the column of her neck. Ron roared, veering towards the older Deatheater – only to be captured around the waist by Harry. The boy who lived had tears trailing down his face despite his static expression.
Yaxley snarled menacingly. "Step back, boy, or I will rip your whore's throat to shreds."
Hermione was numb to the sharp sting of the blade, so close to piercing an important artery near her jugular. She was numb to everything apart from the twisting shadows growing larger and larger behind her two best friends. Behind the two most important boys in her life, both of whom were risking the safety of future generations only to save her.
She knew what those shadows foreshadowed, and yet, she stood still. She stood there, in the overbearing arms of a Deatheater, staring at the blinding explosions outside of the stained glass window. She stood still and silent when she documented the grief-filled face of her boyfriend, the frightened and tortured face of her brother. She stood still and silent. It was only when she noticed the peculiar wand movements of the now hulking bodies standing behind her best friends that she knew she had to do. All sound muffled to a single, ambient drone within her ear canal. Hermione felt as if she were underwater – as if she were floating and all of her actions were carried out in slow motion.
She glanced towards Harry and Ron, sending each of them a fond, loving smile. Too soon, however, her lips curved downwards. Her eyes scanned up towards the marble ceiling where patterns were carved into the stone. Both boys followed her gaze, brows meeting in the middle as they attempted to work out her plan. It only took a few precious seconds for them to realise, but by then…it was too late.
The world rushed back towards Hermione. Despite this she could only mutely hear Ron and Harry screaming.
NO! They chanted.
HERMIONE, NO – PLEASE DON'T DO THIS!
HERMIONE!
Pointing her wand towards the large marble arch of the corridor, Hermione whispered the last word she was to speak: "Reducto."
As the ceiling began to fall, effectively knocking out the death eaters behind Harry and Ron as trapping Hermione within the corridor with Yaxley, she felt a giggle rise up from the pit of her stomach. Isn't it funny, she thought to herself, that I am too meet my doom via a spell that I learnt at the beginning of third year?
The desperate, tortured cries of her best friends was the last things Hermione heard before her world went black.
Hermione swam between the pools of consciousness and blissful darkness. She drifted between the worlds, a ship commander without a proper map. She felt no guilt in declaring that she preferred the darkness. In that peaceful void, there was a strange warmth that instigated a sense of intense joy within her. When the sea grew choppy, she would choke on tiny, unconnected recollections – a jagged red scar, the smell of freshly cut grass, ink-splattered fingers, the acidic scent of rotting flesh, a mop of red hair, strange popping candy that felt like tiny electric bolts on her tongue…
Flashes of images – sensations – filled her mind, overwhelming her until she retreated back into the darkness. Hermione knew that something was wrong – that she had somewhere to be and something to do. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember. If she were to be honest with herself, she didn't really care either, for she was tired. Not in the way that could be fixed with a long nap – no, Hermione carved darkness. Silence. Warmth.
She was not strong enough to resist the offering.
And so, she floated.
"Granger?"
Hermione internally flinched at the sound of a voice, willing herself to slip back into her blank darkness. She began to feel a prickling pain across the heavy expanse of her…her what? She was nothing. She was air. She was blackness.
"Granger?" The voice pulled her out of her bliss once more. A burning pain began to throb like ripples across the expanse of her skin. It multiplied by the second, reaching a climax where she was sure her skin was melting off of her bones. She wanted to scream, but it felt as if she were drugged – unable to escape from her phantom chains. Mutterings within an indistinguishable language – not at all English – was heard. Delicate lilts and elongated vowels were all that Hermione was able to pick up on as the fire veered to increasing heights within her. Another voice, a little higher than the first, joined in – seemingly in argument.
Hermione yearned for her darkness.
If only she could scream.
Suddenly, she felt herself being angled slightly up and something warm touched her lips. The heady scent of musk and something indistinguishable filled the air. From the smooth object ran a metallic tasting liquid. Unable to move, she felt it dribble down her throat. It was then that she noticed that the liquid possessed a sweet overtone – like sugar, cinnamon and the expensive red wine her father once drank during a holiday in France. With every drop that floated down her throat, Hermione felt herself strengthen. The burning pain – although still raging through her body – did not feel as if it were going to burn her alive.
Her eyes flickered open and she was greeted by two silvery-blue eyes framed by a halo of orange-gold light. Those eyes seemed as if they were able to delve into the very depths of Hermione's soul – able to crack open the deepest thoughts, beliefs and experiences she kept hidden from the world.
Those eyes…
Hermione felt the blackness once again take over her conscious state – but this time, she fought against it. Those eyes demanded that she stay there, with them. As is the terrible irony of life, Hermione could not win this fight. Weak, tired and overwhelmed, she once again submitted to the blackness.
Once more, she floated between worlds. Once again, she was map less, but printed up within the darkened sky was the shape of two, bright blue eyes – formed by the amassing of hundreds of faraway stars. Hermione did not know where she was going, but she felt protected underneath the gaze of those eyes.
And so, she floated.
So, what did you think? I hope you guys like it - I can't wait to get into the next few chapters!